Skyless Days
by Moonlight's Mist
Summary: I suppose that if I'm doing this like the fanfictions I use to read I would be telling you how I died and was mysteriously reborn, and overcame all evil and all that jazz, but I won't. Because to me, this isn't a fanfiction, this isn't a story, it's my life. My blood that was shed, my tears that were given, and my life that was lost. Rated M b/c im paranoid. my cover art.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own only my OC(s)**

 **AN:** This is my first published fanfic so I'm still working out the kinks and how this sight works so i apologize for any mess-ups in the publishing. Slow Updates. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer.

While this is my first _published_ fanfiction I have dabbled in it before, and I would very much appreciate it if readers would leave reviews and constructive criticism, thank you~

If you are here to put down inspiring authors or do not like this story at any time please leave and do not flame, if there is a specific reason why you dislike something then leave an explanation as to why in a hopefully non flaming way, and ill do my best to ether explain why it is the way it is or, if I find good reasoning in your argument, may change it, maybe.

 **Not beta'd**

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" _Death is a stripping away of all that is not you. The secret of life is to die before you die- and find that there is no death."_ _-_ Eckhart Tolle

* * *

In truth I could not tell you what happened the exact moment in which I died. I remember being awake, but in the minutes it took for my heart to stop everything seemed to blur together; I don't know if I was shot, hit by a car, or even had a heart attack. All I know is that in that moment, in that haze of memory, I died. In the moments afterwards though, I can recall with great clarity.

Darkness, as far as the eye can see, cloaked me in its murky mist; its ghostly vapors twisting around me in a mock embrace. I didn't know if I was standing or sitting, or even just dangling there without knowing what was up or what was down; everything seemingly blending together in the shadows. Perhaps it was there that I lost the memory of my death, yet somehow knowing that I was indeed dead. I don't know how long I was there, merely existing in that gloom without thought or action. Nor how long I continued within that reverie of near insanity until I slowly became aware of my surroundings, or lack thereof.

Strangely I did not panic nor did I feel fear of realizing that I had died, instead I felt mere curiosity. I could only wonder what would happen next, if I would go to heaven, or maybe become a ghost; if I would be reincarnated or continue to exist as I was then, just resting in that dark abyss. Eventually, naturally, I grew bored and began to desperately search my mind for something to entertain myself with, only to find my memories fading with time. Feeling a sudden terror, a fear of losing myself along with my memories, I examined my mind vigorously only to sense a faded pain through my initial panic.

I did not deter and continued to search my mind for even a flicker of an image or a ghost of a sound, but only to, once again, find nothing. It frightened me, not because I was losing my memories, but because I _knew_ I was losing them and could do _nothing_ to stop it. It was like trying to remember an old friend's name, one that you have not spoken to for a decade or two, and you have the feeling the you know what it is, but can't remember it; it's there, at the very tip of your tongue, and yet it flees your mind as to what it truly is. And it won't stop bothering you until you remember because you know that somewhere in your mind you _know what it is._

It was near maddening as time once again began to fade with whether days or years I could not tell, and still, my mind would yield nothing more than a passing migraine.

Annoyed at my apparent lack of findings I delved deeper into my mind than I ever had before, deeper than I thought even possible, pushing past the wall of migraines that always seemed to greet me, and concentrated on simply finding my own name. My headache continued to increase in pressure the farther I searched until the pain was nigh unbearable yet I endeavored to endure, determined not to allow the throbbing pain to prevent me from reaching my goal, from reaching my very _being_. I kept digging into my own mind with metaphorical claws even when I felt like I was going to faint, even when my head felt like it would melt from the intense heat of pain. I was determined to find myself even if it _ruined_ _me._ Even if it caused me to _stay_ there in that _void forever._

Because if I couldn't _remember_ who i was, who I _am_ , then what was the point? What was the point of moving forward if you _lose yourself_ along the way?

That was when something strange happened, something so unexpected that it nearly ceased my efforts through sheer shock. I saw something. I was able to _see_ something after so long of being blind, but it wasn't just anything. No, what I saw was a _fire_.

Transparent flames danced and curled around my translucent body, warming and solidifying my body as they merrily swarmed around me, and suddenly everything was _clear._

Memories from a distant life came back startlingly vivid, as if a cover was removed and suddenly you could _read_ and _see_ what was beneath. Everything was there, from the clearest day to the most obscure dream. Things that I didn't even realize I could remember. Such as the many times I had eaten that _horrid_ substance people dare call baby food.

And the more I remembered, the more I realized who i am, the flames began to change. They became more solid, more _real_ , and deepened into color. The dim glow of the flames grew into a soft illumination, and I began to _feel_ their warmth coiling into my very _soul._

It was all too strange and yet it felt so _right._

Then the void around me _shifted_ and everything _changed_.

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 **An** : Please Review on your way out~ :)


	2. Chapter 2: Kulat

**chapter 1: Kulat  
**

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 **AN:** Yay! I finally finished the chapter! :D Sorry it took so long, but my muse is a fickle thing. Over 4,000 words! Told ya it would be longer~ :3

 **Warning:** attempted rape, non explicit, mention of past attempt.

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" _Lonely is not a feeling when you are alone. Lonely is a feeling when no one cares" -unknown._

* * *

Rain poured down upon the small, desolate village of Kulat, accentuating the natural aura of grim despondency.

The ground became a mix of mud and filth, stray farm animals drifted to half collapsed shelters, small, wooden shacks groaned worryingly in the howling wind, and people huddled together for warmth and protection as the storm raged around them.

Beggars bunched together in piles of ragged cloth and spindly limbs, orphans gathered together with distrustful eyes and shivering forms, and families clutched each other with mumbled prayers.

Well, most of them at least.

In a house at the edge of the village, nearest to the surrounding forest, was a young boy of 4 years sitting before an old, cracked window. The child stared off into the storm with distant eyes; his mind unknowingly falling into a shallow meditation.

Feofan Volya.

That was his name now.

It was strange, he reflected, the he couldn't even pronounce his own name correctly.

When he had first came into this world he had been filled with anger, resentment, and fear. Not much had changed, actually, he just had something to direct at.

At the beginning he had been angry at a multitude of things; the knowledge that he'd have to go through school again, the fact that he could no longer be with his family, and that he was cognizant during his _rebirth._ Just to name a few.

He was resentful, because if this was supposed to be a blessing, a second chance, why did he have to remember all the things that he's _lost_.

He was afraid, because _oh dear lord, I've-been-reborn-why-in-the-world-is-this-happening how-the-hell-is-this-happening, the-hell-am-i-supposed-to-do-now._

Now. Now he was angry because he had to fight tooth and nail for the right to live for the simple reason that his so called parents intentionally withheld food from him because "oh, he's small he don't need much, he just a worthless brat".

Resentful, because his entire existence was due to his 'caring' parents getting drunk and wanting a mini-slave to boss around, not realizing they first have to _raise_ the kid which cost _money._

Afraid. So, so afraid because here, in the place, this town, no one cares if your suffering, if you _die._

No one cares if your family is abusing you, why should they? they have their own problems to worry about. They don't care that you're starving, so what? Everyone is. And if you die? Well, one less mouth to feed, and more food for someone else.

 **No one** cares what happens to a child that was a by-product of a reckless night.

"Brother?"

Feofan blinked slowly before turning around, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Well. Not _everyone_.

Behind him was another child the same age as Feofan, give or take a few minutes. The child was pale, worryingly thin, and had large, exotic indigo eyes. The boy also had the same, strange, purple hair as Feofan.

He's Feofan's twin, Pavel.

"Brother." Pavel sighed, sounding far older than any child should. "Are you trying catch a cold?"

Feofan just smiled sheepishly as he shook his head ever so slightly; a reply stirred restlessly in his mind but stilled in his throat, unsure of the foreign words needed to express his thoughts.

That was another thing that drove him crazy. Despite having the memories of an adult and a child's learning curve he still had trouble learning this language. His language now, he supposed. He understood much of what was said, but listening and speaking were two very different things.

So, words escaped him for the time being, instead he made his way to his (adorable) baby brother to give him a hug. Pavel stiffed slightly, wary of touche due to their... _loving_ parents, before relaxing into his arms. It pained Feofan to know that his brother may never be comfortable with something as simple as a hug. Will be wary of it turning into a painful punch or slap.

When Feofan first found that he had a brother, he didn't know what to feel.

In his past life he had been a single child with caring, if absent minded, parents. He had been taught to be independent at an early age, making his own lunch by first grade and dressing himself even earlier than that. It may seem cruel to outsiders, and perhaps it was. His mom was a secretary to some CEO and was often away, whether physically or mentally, to work; his father had been a high end accountant, and though he often worked at home Feofan had rarely seen the man. To his family, it was normal.

Now he had a _little brother_ that _needed_ Feofan to look after him, to care for him, and Feofan had _no idea how._

Feofan tightened his grip slightly before letting go, grabbing Pavel's hand and tugging him over to their shared sleeping space. It was a raggedy, thin mattress on the ground covered in itchy blankets. It had no right to be called a bed.

Still, Feofan guided Pavel to the sad excuse of furniture and curled around each other on it; wordlessly gripping the other in slightly trembling fists as thunder roared above them. Their minds involuntarily flashing back to how many times they had nearly lost the other already in their painfully young lives.

And the storm raged on...

* * *

The sun was sending a baleful glare upon their bent backs. Sweat, that oh so precious water, dripped off their faces in a vain attempt to cool them. Their hands, cracked and blistered, worked uselessly to save an already dead crop.

"Put your back into it brat!"

Feofan grimaced as a large boot pressed itself onto the back of his neck, pushing his head into the mud. He saw Pavel shift slightly in worry, but Feofan signaled him to stay put.

"If them crops aren't up and growing soon, no food for a fucken week!" The burly man stalked off muttering under his breath.

Pavel glared after their father, "Perhaps if he actually taught us how to farm and helped us we'd have food on the table."

Feofan scoffed "but that cut into he 'drinken time', Brother." Complete with air quotes.

"that _would_ cut into _his_ drink _ing_ time." Pavel corrected absently, turning back to work as his brother made an annoyed sound in his throat; his brother did that on occasion, Pavel reflected, particularly when bored.

"Speech too com-comlitated."

"Speech _is_ too _complicated._ "

"...Tch."

A smile tugged at the corner of Pavel's lips; Feofan always became aggravated when his trouble speaking became overly obvious. Well, perhaps 'trouble speaking' isn't exactly what one would call it. No. Feofan has no problem talking, he just doesn't seem to have the right words.

Pavel can remember that not long ago their father had came into their room, drunk, and started bullying Pavel in a weird way, but Feofan had jumped on his back with pounding fists, yelling strange words. Their father was furious about it, not so much the physical attacks but what Feofan was saying, although it didn't look like he actually _knew_ what Feofan was saying, just that he was saying it in "that disgusting language". It hadn't ended well for Feofan, but thankfully the old man didn't seem to remember what had happened the next day.

Pavel often wondered how his brother had learned it as their is no one in the village that speaks it, at least to Pavel's knowledge. Feofan had been careful not to use that weird speech again after the beating he had gained for it, most likely fearful of what would happen to him in the few times their father was sober, and he never seemed to have the words to describe what the language is when Pavel asked.

So instead they mostly communicated through halted words and numerous body signals. Oh, and Feofan's weird animal noise thing he does. Whenever he can't find a word he wants to use and Pavel is unable to guess it, Feofan resorts to a mixture of miming and agitated growling.

He was once able to scare off the neighbor's mutt but doing a scary imitation of a predator's growl, complete with bared teeth and fingers curved into faux claws. Pavel never laughed so hard when Feofan was startled by his own growl, like he wasn't sure if it was actually him or something else.

Now he kind of wished his brother hadn't found out about that particular ability. It seemed like Feofan growled and snarled at anything that annoyed or frightened him. Pavel really needed to break him out of that habit before someone thinks he's feral or something.

* * *

Feofan was tired. So, so tired.

He and his brother had been working in the field all day, sun up to sun down, like many of the other villagers, but no matter what they tried there was no saving the crops. The storm had destroyed everything.

In the past Feofan wouldn't have cared. So what? The stores will still have food and it's not _he_ was the struggling farmer. But that was in America.

He knew, of course, that he wasn't in America anymore, the language was proof enough, but he was never very good at placing accents and such, so he wasn't able to figure out just _where_ he was reborn. For all he knew his new language was Polish or something.

But he found out eventually, and what a shock it was.

Russia. Feofan was reborn in _Russia_ , in the _1970_ s, when it was still a _communist_ nation. Not to mention nearly _twenty_ years before his birth in the past life, but that's hardly the point.

Communism is "in which all property is publicly owned and each person works and is paid according to their abilities and needs." Unfortunately what people need, is only the bare minimum to survive according to the more corrupt Soviet leaders, everything else is paid for by the people's small wages.

The village Feofan was born into was designated, by the government, to be a farming village. That means everyone in the village was determined to have the 'ability' to farm and so everyone did. Sure there where hooker and beggars, but they still farmed what the government wanted; then, after the food was picked it would be shipped off, and the meager rations that the government said would fulfill what they 'needed' would be sent back.

Feofan was worried what would happen if they had nothing to send in.

He had never looked closely at Russia's government, never had a reason to, so he wasn't completely sure what to expect. Feofan didn't know if it was because of past prejudices or his natural poor outlook on life, but he couldn't help but fear the worst.

So, when he felt sufficiently rested and his brother asleep for the night, Feofan forced his aching body up. He went to the kitchen first and gathered a few spare cans of food to hide, knowing full well his genetic donor would keep his threat should there be a backlash for the poor crop outcome. That done, the small child left through the back door and made his way into the surrounding forest. The male drunkard sometimes searched the brothers' room, paranoid that they were stealing from them. Which was true, since the moment he could walk Feofan began to squirrel away canned food for later days, by that time fully aware of his 'loving' parents attitude toward him and his brother. It's saved them more than once.

Entering the darkened woods he immediately began to use the shadows to hide his movements from any unwanted eyes, animal or otherwise. The first time he had used the woods as a hiding place he had not hidden the food well enough and ended up attracting a lone wolf to the area; Feofan had been scared out of his mind when the beast had jumped at him from the shadows, and had ended up waiting in a small tree for the rest of the night for it to leave. Thankfully, he had eventually learned how to hide his stash from both the elements and scavenging animals.

Making his way to his hideaway, Feofan was quick to put his stolen goods inside and erase as much of the evidence of his presence as he could before heading back.

Laying back down beside his brother, Feofan could only hope his precautions were unnecessary.

* * *

His entire stash was wiped clean by the second month after the storm.

Feofan was forced to scavenge for edible plants in the forest behind the cabin, often eating a small amount and waiting to see if he'll get sick before presenting them to his younger brother.

The days it took to learn what was safe and what was poisonous was trial in and of itself. He became sick multiple times, nearly dieing from it possibly even more so, and could barely keep it together for the many times he was forced to work while sick.

Though he tried not to show it, he knew Pavel was worried. The amount of times he had woken up to find his baby brother's face above him, futily holding back tears and babbling about him not waking up were too painful to count. Feofan regrets the times he nearly left Pavel alone in the world with no one to protect him, but if given the choice he would do it again.

It was because of those horrid days that Feofan now knew what they could safely eat around their village, and while he'll never be a fan of crushed leaves and tree sap, it's far better than slowly wasting away as their 'parents' would have.

When the village reported they had nothing to send in the whole village was punished. Oh, they were still sent what they 'needed', but it was barely enough to fill their empty stomachs. Everyone was forced to ration for fear of running out, knowing they wouldn't get anymore until the next shipment in three months. Some had it worse than others. The parents in the decent families went hungry in an effort to feed their children while the orphans had to raid the orphanage to get their fair share from the handlers, but the Volya brothers were lucky to get even a handful of crumbs every three days from their parents.

Pavel tried to convince himself that it was because they didn't need to eat as much, now that they weren't working as often, but Feofan knew the truth.

Knew from the way their father would look at them in anger when he sees that they have yet to perish from starvation. Knew from how their mother would reluctantly give them that single piece of bread to keep up appearance of 'caring' parents.

They were intentionally trying to kill them, just so they could have what meager rations they had to give to the brothers.

Pavel feared the day they ran out of food.

Feofan just feared the day their guardians tire of waiting.

* * *

Five year old Feofan Volya stared down at the small, nondescript tombstone surrounded by a thick blanket of snow. He did nothing as the cold December wind swept over him, tugging at his worn scarf in an effort to dislodge it. He continued to stare, unsure what he should feel or do.

"...Feofan?"

Feofan didn't blink as Pavel came to stand beside him, and instead watched the falling snow come to rest upon the freshly dug grave. Their mother was dead. Died of an 'accident' or so they say, fell and hit her head, but he wasn't so sure.

Their father was out in the bar getting drunk when it happened, and Feofan had been in the woods trying to find any plants that had survived the first frost. Only Pavel had been home with her that day, and while he didn't want to think of it, Feofan could not deny that there was a new darkness in his brother's eyes.

"...Do you miss her?"

Feofan blinked slowly. "No," he said without looking at Pavel, "It's hard to miss someone I did not know." Finally he turned to look at his baby brother, his Otouto, and smiled slightly. He didn't know if the darkness was because of something their mother did before she passed, if he may have witnessed her death, or if it was perhaps the cause of her passing.

Turning, Feofan took his brother's hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Let's go inside, Otouto." He uttered softly. He wouldn't ask, not when his otouto feared to answer. He would tell him when he was ready.

* * *

After their mother died, their father was much more volatile. He would be more free with his punches, threw more bottles, and swore more; sometimes giving the brothers both a look that made their skin crawl. It came to the point where Feofan had to drag Pavel out with him on his scavenging so he wouldn't be home alone without anyone to help him should their father come back from getting drunk and wasting what little savings he had on hookers.

It wasn't all bad though. While in the woods Feofan would teach Pavel what little he knew of staying quiet, to stay hidden in the shadows. How to hide things from other scavengers and spot potential predator tracts. It wasn't the best, as Feofan could only teach what he had learned from experience, which wasn't a lot, but it gave them both something to do while waiting until it was safe to sneak back inside the house to sleep. They tried not to come back when the old man was awake or even remotely functional, and often left before sunrise to avoid him.

Then there were the things Feofan _did_ know that he could teach Pavel. So he did.

He taught his otouto english, what little he could translate. He taught Pavel mathematics, to add and subtract, to use it for common situations. He taught him to read English, how the written word could affect people on a emotional bases and transport them to completely different worlds. Feofan taught him history as he knew it and how many governments worked. He taught his Otouto anything and everything that came to mind, and never once did Pavel ask how he knew these things. He didn't offer an explanation.

Farming season rolled around eventually and the brothers were forced to help in the fields, and their so called father would watch them from where he toiled. Waiting. The government officials that overlooked designated farming towns had sent overseers to make sure there would be a crop this year, so there genetic donor was forced to work for once in his life.

As the days dragged on the twins grew more and more weary, barely checking if it was safe before collapsing in exhaustion.

* * *

It was near the end of July when their father attacked.

It had been a long and tedious day for the siblings. Up before the sun and only retired after dusk, worked all day and rarely rested. They barely swallowed their food before collapsing on their shared cot to sleep, only to wake not long after to their father's bulky form looming over them.

Before either of them could process this, their father was on them. Hitting, grabbing, _touching._

Feofan's mind went back to that night when they were three, but their father wasn't drunk this time, wasn't going to be so easily deterred.

Panic surged through him and his body seemed to switch immediately into survival mode. Feofan punched, kicked, and bit to no avail; his small fists bouncing off weakly against the large adult.

" _Stop! Stop it! Leave us alone_!" Feofan yelled frantically, trying desperately to divert the man's attention away from his brother. It worked, a little too well.

The adult immediately backhanded him across the face, the force sending Feofan halfway across the room, his head smacking against the floor with a solid ' _thunk_ '.

Feofan laid there for a moment, dazed. Distantly he could hear the sound of the struggle, but everything seemed fuzzy, blurred almost. Weakly he lifted his head, the room spinning, and noted that the hit had sent him a good six feet from the struggle; Pavel was fighting valiantly, but was easily being suppressed without Feofan to help distract the mad man.

Terror gripped him when the man reached down to undo his own belt, and Feofan struggled to get up, to _move_. His head throbbed as liquid fell into his left eye, blinding it; his limbs quivered in exhaustion each time he tried to push himself upright.

Damn it! At this rate he'll never save Pavel! he-he'll _lose him_!

Through all of this painful life Pavel was the _only one_ that cared, the only thing keeping him from _giving up_.

Wild desperation surged through Feofan followed closely by an overwhelming warmth. Warmth that thawed his frozen limbs, cleared his throbbing head, and hardened his resolve.

He will. Not. Lose. Him.

The world ignited in purple.

* * *

Even as Pavel fought against the brute of their father he could not help but watch his brother from the corner of his eye, astonishment flooding through his veins.

Pavel had never seen Feofan this wild with anger. It was as though Feofan had transformed and in his place a beast laid, biting and snarling with animalistic rage.

Feofan's heterochromia eyes were wide, a dark, desperate anger swirling in their bi-colored depths. His teeth bared in a snarling growl, reminiscent of the wolves Pavel had once seen in the surrounding forests. His brother's fingers curled downward, his long nails forming vicious claws that struck their attacker without hesitation. He fought with a desperate determination of a wild animal cornered by its enemies.

All their jests and teasing of Feofan secretly being part beast suddenly seemed so startling true in that moment that Pavel half expected him to change into one then and there.

Repeatedly, Feofan tried to shift his position, trying to get off his back to fight, only to be stopped again and again. Feofan yelled out in their secret language and not even Pavel could understand him due to the sheer animality of it. It was more of a rough, barking snarl than actual words, the growl underlying the words rumbling from his chest.

It was as if his brother had vanished, and only the darkest parts of his soul remained.

Suddenly their fath- no, the brute lashed out and struck Feofan across the face, the force sending him away from them.

Pavel cried out to him but had little time to worry, as the brute of a man now focused solely upon him. He cursed, he should've fought harder before, rather than watching his brother do all the work.

Light abruptly flooded the room, blinding him with its brilliance in the normally dim lighting. Just as suddenly the weight atop of him left, a heavy thud resounding nearby. Blinking rapidly the black dots gradually abandoned his vision, his eyes widening in complete shock at the sight before him.

The adult laid flat on his back, his arms trembling before him as he vainly attempted to protect himself. Bent over him, alight in a blaze of dancing flames, was Feofan. If Feofan had resembled a beast before, it was nothing to what he was now.

Unnaturally colored flames swarmed around him, from him, in a hellish visage; the fire elongating and flickering sporadically into various shapes, anywhere from fluffy tails to demonic entire room was illuminated with the bicolored light, indigo and purple seemingly dancing merrily upon the walls. Blood splatters covered Feofan's face and body, his eyes glowing along with the flames, flames that Pavel now realized matched Feofan's heterochromia eye colors.

There was no humanity in his eyes, only murderous rage as he repeatedly stabbed the man that they once called their father with translucent, indigo blades.

Pavel did not know how long he sat there, watching the scene unfold, but when he finally broke out of his rumination their attacker had long since fallen silent and still; his brother steadily slowing his movements until he sat there upon the adult's body breathing heavily, the flames around him shrinking and becoming dim before flickering out of existence entirely. Feofan's eyes met his and the only thing Pavel could read from them was an overwhelming _relief_ before they fluttered closed as his brother slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"Feofan!"

* * *

 **AN:** Sorry if the part about Russia offends anyone, but I don't really know all that much about it, especially what it does internally, so im using a bit of creative license here. Also that part was told in Feo's POV which he doesn't know much ether and his parents lived through the Red Scare so he's a bit biased.

Hope you liked it! Please review~ constructive criticism is always helpful and wanted!~

Ja ne~


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